In all the aeons we have lost nothing, we have gained nothing - not a speck, not a grain, not a breath. The universe is simply a sealed, twisting kaleidoscope that has reordered itself a trillion trillion trillion times over.
Each baby, then, is a unique collision - a cocktail, a remix - of all that has come before: made from molecules of Napoleon and stardust and comets and whale tooth; colloidal mercury and Cleopatra’s breath: and with the same darkness that is between the stars between, and inside, our own atoms.
When you know this, you suddenly see the crowded top deck of the bus, in the rain, as a miracle: this collection of people is by way of a starburst constellation. Families are bright, irregular-shaped nebulae. Finding a person you love is like galaxies colliding. We are all peculiar, unrepeatable, perambulating micro-universes - we have never been before and we will never be again. Oh God, the sheer exuberant, unlikely face of our existences. The honour of being alive. They will never be able to make you again. Don’t you dare waste a second of it thinking something better will happen when it ends. Don’t you dare.
Going through some journal entries from this past winter. This one struck a chord today.
When I was a kid I wrote all the time. I wasn’t ashamed about the words that came out of my head. I planned stories, imagined characters made up lands and lore and wrote it all down on sheets of loose leaf paper and kept it all in a black duotang that I carried around with me. I was proud of those stories. I didn’t really want to share them with people. They were mine, my stories, my escape from whatever was bothering me in the real world.
Then something changed. I don’t know if it was puberty or peer pressure or just me growing up but at some point I decided that the person that I was wasn’t any good and thus the things I was doing and creating weren’t any good either. So, like any awkward, self-conscious pre-teen would do I decided to change. Hide away all of the things that I loved in my heart of hearts.
Even to this day trying to write brings out the fear and doubt and shadows like black dragons guarding a long burried treasure inside me.
I don’t think i’ve showed anyone my personal writing since High School… 10 years.
look , i literally can’t stress how cute this deleted parks and rec scene is and im about to lose my fucking shit.
Im in love with Chris Pratt
This one never gets old.
Cosima warm up.